Lost
by bellelethe
Summary: A vignette-turned-story about the end of Erik's time in Persia and what might have happened had his gift been more willing. Not quite an E-OW.
1. Innocence Lost

The golden sunlight cast a cruelly beautiful glow on this last night. A lovely hue of purple trickled through the intricate latticework covering the window. The light flickered and danced when she moved her pale, jewel-encrusted arms. A soft sigh escaped her reddened lips and her blackened eyelashes lowered until they touched her shimmering silver skin.

Suddenly, one of the eunuchs stationed to guard the harem at all times emitted a string of words that seemed nothing more than unintelligible babble. For an instant her quicksilver eyes blazed, their old sparkle returning; but it was gone that quickly, vanished like a wisp of smoke.

"Oui?"

The thickly accented voice struggled to wrap its tongue around the beautiful and civilized words of the French language. "Mademoiselle, your presence is required. You have five minutes to make yourself ready."

Exiting the room, the fat man left her alone with her thoughts. With a hand that shook slightly, she looked at the unfamiliar face in the mirror. Her long, curly black hair had been twisted into knots and braids, the unruly ringlets tamed and controlled with a thick potion. Down past the small of her back the black water fell, spilling over her delicate white shoulders in stiff spirals.

She thought of everything and nothing while she gazed through the carved wooden covering on the window. Low in her stomach, the dull knife twisted as it always did when she was nervous. Perhaps it had been wise that she had not eaten in three days. It explained the stomach ache. Her last recollection of a decent meal long gone, she longed for one she could simply stomach.

Blinking back the tears that burned and pricked behind her eyes, she tried to ignore the heady smell of the imported perfume that clashed with the aroma of the hibiscus bushes outside her window. The sickening cacophony of the scents made her nauseous.

Breathing carefully through her mouth, she placed her hands on her painted belly. The nails on her long, delicate fingers had been grown for more than a month; such was the time she had been prepared. They, too, had been enameled in silver and encrusted with glass designed to look like diamonds. Her body had been dusted and painted silver, and elaborate henna designs snaked up her arms in a shimmering silver-gold paint. Diamonds had also been embedded here and there into her soft skin to complete the effect.

She had known the inevitability of this day since the khanum discovered French was her native language as well as her magician's. She had emitted a wicked laugh over that. The voluptuous figure behind the red silks had gracefully bestirred herself from the divan and walked over to her. "Ah, yes," she'd murmured upon examining her face, arms, figure. "You shall not fail to entrance my sorcerer. I trust you remember what happened to the other one? The first odalisque?" She had needed no answer, for who could forget the day the poor little slave girl had been brutally tortured in ways that were as unthinkable as they were unspeakable?

"You are beautiful, in a foreign way, to be sure. No true Persian would ever want the likes of you. But you are young, nubile, and comely enough for a stranger. Those eyes are eerie, though. Nothing can be done about them...unless...," the shah's mother had stopped then. "No, you will not fail to entrance him...if you wish to live." She had given the gesture for dismissal and announced, "You may leave."

Returning to her chambers she had awaited her fate with dread day after day and lesson upon lesson.

"_Mademoiselle_."

Gracefully, she turned from the window, the silver silks swirling before flattening against her body in the slight breeze. Ever so quickly, she grabbed a vial from her vanity and hid it inside the palm of her hand. It held only enough for tonight, just this one time. Praying her resolve would not fail, she left the room.

The gold-threaded slippers made no sound on the marbled floor. In the corridor, the khanum awaited her, surrounded by ladies of the harem. A beautiful cloth-of-silver gauze rested in her hands, falling from a tiara of spun silver, embellished with black pearls. Absurdly the myth of Persephone came to mind. I'm to be stolen by the Devil and made Queen of the Night. She would have laughed, were it possible. The khanum placed the crown upon her head. When the veil covered her face below the eyes and trailed down, she heard, "Take her to him."

Somehow her leaden legs moved her from the strange familiarity of the harem up to the lavish apartments reserved for high officials and favorites of the shah. The eunuchs stopped before the intricate double doors and opened them. In a high, singsong voice, one sang, "The Shadow of God, Mother to the Illustrious One, She Who Wanders in Eternal Light bestows upon her ungrateful, yet useful, servant: La Luna."

Her time had come. "So soon?" she whispered. The eunuchs bowed for her to enter, and she did. The apartments were extravagant to say the least. Black and red were the predominant colors and there were caged animals everywhere. Hideous, injured things, unable to leave -some making terribly plaintive noises. For all the horrid murders the sorcerer committed, did he also torture helpless animals? The girl looked up. A tall figure stood stiffly by the balcony, a glass filled with mahogany colored liqueur in his hand. Garbed strangely for Persia, he wore an immaculately tailored evening suit. It must be at the height of fashion in Europe. He raised his right hand and curtly waved two fingers.

The eunuchs quickly asked something in Persian she could not comprehend. He replied brusquely and they left, hurriedly closing the door behind them. The soft click of the lock was louder than any cannon blast to her ears. Unintentionally, she jumped. The door was shut; her fate sealed. Condemned to spend her last night on earth with a vile murderer who had the face of a cadaver - a monster with a taste for torture.

"Please, come here mademoiselle," he beckoned. How could a demon speak so sweetly? The words were elemental music; soft as a mother's caress and surpassingly gentle. To hear her native tongue spoken so fluently and with such beauty made her body ache. He gestured for her to come forward and she complied; the instinct for survival drawing her inexorably forward.

When she stood before him she noticed he wore the mask. It covered his entire face but for the very bottom of his grossly malformed lips. In one way it was a relief, yet she almost wished she could see his face; it would remind her of the monster she dealt with. She stared into his mismatched eyes while holding her head high. One was a deep brown with flecks of gold, the other a clear, crystalline blue. He returned her gaze appraisingly and asked in that same velvety voice, "How is it you came to be here?"

"I was on a pilgrimage with my academy when we were kidnapped in Istanbul. Three girls survived, myself included. One escaped into the desert to certain death and the other killed herself. After those incidents I was kept under constant watch and not permitted any utensils, for fear I take my own life. I arrived at the palace, where it was discovered that I speak French. The khanum bestowed me with a great honor and gave me to her most favorite servant." She paused. "Master."

"Do not call me that. I have no intention of taking you, since it has been proven that a woman would rather die a monstrous death than lie with me. You may stay the night and tell the khanum what you will. Her most favorite servant has no use for you, so I fear you'll stay _un-honored_ tonight."

Not knowing what to say, the slave girl replied, "As you will. Though I must tell you that on the morrow I am to be examined. If it is not proven that you took me as your wife, I will be executed after the manner of the first girl."

He turned sharply and looked at her. "Excuse me? She would never. That bitch!" he roared. His anger rose as quickly as a desert sandstorm and was equally terrifying. He ranted and raved incoherently as he threw ornaments and small pieces of furniture across the room. When at last composed himself he said, "Mademoiselle, the choice is entirely yours."

When faced with a life-altering decision that one must make on his own, for some, everything stops. The girl looked at her master incredulously, yet her face remained as calm and still as the surface of a silvered lake.

"A choice?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. A choice. What to do? There had been a choice before this, of course, but the monster is giving one to me? _Incroyable_.

"Yes, you have a choice as to your fate. If you wish to live, I suppose I could try to get you out of the place by dawn. I make no promises, though. If you are not up to the task, you are doomed."

Studying the near perfection of the Persian carpet at her feet, she observed how the green faded imperceptibly into yellow, which then transposed itself into gold and finally a brilliant crimson. A sensible, logical design could not be discerned. Nor could a sensible, logical explanation be found as to why the sorcerer was being so kind. He said nothing of taking her, marrying her – naught of anything of a physical nature. He only spoke of setting her free.

In the fading light, the mage standing on the balustrade looked more natural. He couldn't look less threatening; that would have been impossible. He stood taut as a bowstring, once again clutching the crystal glass filled with brandy and gazing out at nothing in particular. His rooms overlooked the rose garden; the sounds of the water were familiar. The girl's own room had a small latticed window that opened up onto a path of the garden: one could hear the steady trickle of water and see the gravel that those of privilege walked upon. The harem was on a sub-level of the palace as women were naturally inferior to men. Yet this man was treating her as something more than an object to be used. Why? He still held that aura of power and majesty about him, but there was something a little more human about him in that moment. With his back turned to her, he seemed almost normal. Merely a gentleman pondering something after dinner while visiting a strange land. It was oddly comforting.

"I..." her voice faded off. A small sigh escaped the magician's deformed lips and he relaxed ever so slightly.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I would spend the night with you."

"And what would you say to the khanum? You know, I had nothing to do with - I did not wish for the girl to be harmed. She did not want to lie-" The sorcerer stopped then and paused. "She was - the eunuchs were the ones that told of her decision. They are not here now, I have seen to that, though spiders lurk in the walls, to be sure. What shall you say, mademoiselle?"

"I speak only the truth. Perhaps you misunderstood me?" the girl ventured.

"Oh?"

Walking towards the magician, she paused. He towered nearly a foot above her. Resolutely turning her head upward, she said, "I will stay with you, tonight. I shall tell her the truth." Staring fixedly into those mismatched eyes, she observed how the magician had a way of looking at her as though he were staring straight into her soul. "I will be your wife. I shall stay with you tonight and for as long as you want me." That was the true test for her. No longer could she be a child and react to everything that happened. That was too easy; it was past time for her to grow up and put away her toys.

"You do not. No. You cannot. Sit down. Over there on the couch." He gestured wildly. "This is some demented game. What were you told to do here? What is your name?" His voice grew louder and louder like the sound thunder makes when it is building and growing until it finally breaks and shatters causing tense electricity to burst in the air. "What did the khanum tell you to do? Why? One wasn't enough, was it? Why? Why! You will tell me why, girl, and you will tell me now!"

The girl backed up clumsily, retreating in the face of his vicious onslaught. She stumbled into the ornate divan and knelt trembling on the floor. When the storm was over and the thunder stopped at long last, she tried to keep her face passive and still as a sheet of ice. Cold, implacable and hard, she glared up at this putrid being who dared chastise her. She slid her hand against the smooth surface of her back and down to the cord that tied her slip. She trembled violently when she realized she could not find the vial.

A snarl began in her stomach and fluttered up as a dagger drove its way through her insides. Her heart was pounding in her head and a drum beat incessantly, mercilessly inside her head. Curling over in pain, a soft moan escaped her lips and a shimmering drop fell from her lackluster eyes. Lashes lowered at the monster, she stared at the floor as it blurred. Perhaps the gods were being kind and she would sleep now.

A soft, barely audible caress of sound brushed against her ears and her lips parted in a sigh. The gentle touch of a sylph brushed ever so gently against her hair and a glimmer of life sparkled in her ashen eyes once more. Looking up at where this came from, she saw naught but a thin, transparent ghost stirring in front of the window. The moon shone into the room and reflected off the diamonds on her hands. She barely felt the magician's fingers that touched her face as he lifted the veil and wiped away the tear.

Smiling slightly, she sat up and let her head fall back. The exquisite tone of his soft voice reverberated through her body until she could no longer feel it. Now the sound was growing louder and forming syllables which were incomprehensible to her ears, yet lovely all the same. A stirring pleasure awoke in her as she was very suddenly and acutely aware of every nerve in her body even as she felt that she left it. This feeling of oblivion, of pure nothingness, was so intoxicating that she found herself both floating and falling. The beautiful Persian rug that she had seen in what seemed to be another lifetime, floated by, far beneath her head. Abruptly the world spun and the carpet was gone just as quickly. There was now darkness and that was beautiful as well. A rustle was heard that interrupted the sublime resonance and she felt something cool touch her skin all over. Breathing softly she sunk into the soft, icy mist that surrounded her and shuddered.

The tone stopped.

She was lying in a bed and the sorcerer was walking into the room. A panic rose in her throat, and she had the eerie feeling that she was now the mountain goat being stalked by the tiger; unable to escape her certain doom yet fully conscious of its imminent occurrence.

"Would you take water? Where do you hurt, mademoiselle?"

"My stomach," the odalisque whispered dryly.

"Is it near your time of the month," came a precise, cultured voice.

"No; I haven't eaten, monsieur."

"For how long?"

"Three days or so."

"I see. Pray, excuse me," and with that the warlock left her alone in the dark with her thoughts.


	2. Ice and Fire

A million thoughts raced through his mind like snowflakes in a storm. Each small and insignificant, but if not addressed they piled up and became impossible to ignore. The girl had not been fed in days, or so she said. Perhaps she was feigning weakness in order to attempt an attack. The khanum could not be so foolish to believe that a mere slip of a girl could harm him. Of course, the girl was the perfect vessel for revenge. So sweet and fragile, who would ever suspect? Many a poison was sweet as well. However, if this crippling pain in her stomach was something other than hunger, she could have an underlying health condition. But what, if anything, made her belly throb with pain? Why sleep with her and put the girl through even more anguish? The khanum would kill her if he didn't take her. No woman would ever willingly sleep with him; even to escape certain death. The girl would likely die tomorrow. At the moment, the girl was here and needed something to eat.

What did he care if she lived or died? It was how she would die that distressed him. She would be tortured endlessly before they put an end to her pain, simply because she did not want to lie with a monster, a freak, a cadaver. No woman would ever want him, but it was neither fair nor his fault. He had tried to be kind and sensitive to women and their place in life. He took pity on them for their hardships, but still no woman could ever look past his horrid excuse for a face.

Mademoiselle Perrault was to blame for this. She had been the only woman to show him kindness, and that was simply the result of her poor, misguided mind. The only glimmer of sympathy he felt for the human race was for the weaker sex and children. They were unable to defend themselves against the cruelty of men and he, being set apart from men in every other way already, felt obliged to be different in that aspect as well. He had never raped, murdered, or harmed, in any intentional way, an innocent woman or child.

A soft sound shattered his thoughts and his head jerked up to see what had disturbed him. The turtledove with the broken wing had escaped from its cage and had tried to fly to him. It was lying on the floor, struggling to get up. A gentle smile touched his lips as he knelt to collect the bird.

"And how did you get out, _ma__cherie_? You can't fly away just yet, but soon. Very soon you can take to the sky and live in the wild as you were born to."

It continued to coo contentedly as he hummed a song to quiet it. There was a small tray of sweetmeats on the table and he gently fed a morsel to this creature of peace and love. Peace and love. Two things guaranteed to everyone according to the religion he was born into, and yet both were forever beyond his reach. The thought made him tremble with anger. The dove sensed this and nervously began to flutter in his hands, so he resumed singing it a soothing melody. In a twisted way he was reminded of the girl. Beautiful and delicate like the dove, yet he thought he saw something of steel in those intriguing eyes. Like the bird, she had broken wings and needed help to fly away.

Truly an exquisite creature, he observed. Having no beauty of his own, he could easily identify it and appreciate it in others. Her bone structure was nothing short of perfect. The smooth lines of her face gave her the delicate look of a porcelain doll. The pointed curves of her lips reminded him of rose hips and her hair was as a waterfall at midnight. Her milky white skin, flawless and smooth, was contrasted by her dark, thinly arched eyebrows and accentuated by her quicksilver eyes framed by wonderfully thick, lush eyelashes. Her figure was everything a woman's should be. Her arms were thin, but slightly defined; perhaps she had taken ballet lessons as a girl. Her breasts were high and full. The thin cloth of her gown did not entirely conceal their firmness or pallor. Her stomach was flat and white; her waist, like everything else, tiny and followed by slender hips that were full and soft all the same.

Thinking of her curvaceous figure did nothing but make him want her. Uneasily, he realized it had been a while since the mere thought of a woman made him feel that way. Embarrassed and flushed, he attempted to slow his breathing and think of something, anything else. He regarded his hands as they softly stroked the dove, causing it to drift off to sleep. He placed it inside its gilded cage and sat upon the divan. Picking up his forgotten glass of brandy, he began to think of what he must do after he regained his composure. His body was telling him not even to think of composing himself: rather to go in there and take her as she claimed he could. Evidently she had a stronger will to live than the last one.

Breaking down the door and ravishing her was not the gentlemanly thing to do. And why try to be gentlemanly? He only meant to be kind. As though she would appreciate his kindness. These thoughts were pointless and destructive, he recognized at last. Time now to think of the mediocre task of what to feed her. Imported fruits, familiar to a native of France, such as apples, peaches, and pears should work rather well. And if he could manage, perhaps some bananas or oranges on the side would please her too. Bread baked in the traditional European sense, some cheese, and perhaps a light, crisp, white wine. Water as well, should that be more to her taste. Some chicken too, baked simply in the ovens, and nothing remotely Persian. Feeling in control of his senses once more, he left his chambers and spoke to the guard.

When the watchman left, he returned to the sitting room and began to play his violin. A song of control over the baser instincts was his intent, yet as the song progressed it became the story of a man who repeatedly tried to do the right thing, but was enticed one time too many by the woman he most desired. The song climaxed when he gave into his passions upon learning the girl had secretly coveted him as well. It had proceeded to the point where the characters were in the process of tearing off each other's clothing and devouring each others flesh when Erik felt a hand on his naked face.

The hand was not merely resting there, but caressed the tender skin in seductive circles. It felt so wonderful that for a moment he ceased to play. Trembling, the hand moved across his cheekbones and down his chin. The nails ran delicately over his lips and stroked the lower one. Another hand ran up the left side of his face and into his hair. His arms dropped to his sides, still holding the violin. Slowly he turned, eyes closed in anticipation and fear.

"What are you afraid of, Erik?" For the barest moment he wondered how she knew his name, yet when he turned around, he discovered that nothing was touching him. He was startled to see his mask resting on a table. _When__did__I__do__that?_

Alone in the magician's bed, resting upon the cool surface of the silk sheets, she sighed. _What__to__do?_ Now that the vial was lost, she could not take her own life painlessly. She had not anticipated the man giving her a choice, and now that he had, she hadn't the slightest clue what to do. He did not try to force himself on her, nor did he try to persuade her into it. It was simply left up to her. And so very kind, yet so very disconcerting that she wondered if he had ulterior motives. After all, this was the same executioner who mercilessly killed people, from enemies of the state to members of the royal family, who had drawn out their suffering until the last possible instant.

Unexpectedly, there was the soft sound of music coming from outside the room. It was very calm and controlled at first, though not at all soothing. Traveling under the door, it wound its way through the air. Heavy, thick, and richly melodious, she could almost see it snaking its way to the bed. It got louder and deeper in resonance and in meaning. She felt it dance in her toes and curl up her legs. The music breathed life into them, causing her to pulse to quicken. Soon, the feeling traveled to her stomach and glided over her body. She felt flushed with heat and no longer thought of the dull pain in her stomach. Drifting along her neck, it played with the strands of hair that had come loose against her neck and chest. Her eyes closed and lips parted ever so slightly. It grew stronger, more overwhelming, so that her tongue pushed against her teeth begging to be caressed. Her head tossed from side to side and she was filled with an overwhelming desire to dance to the passionate music. To let it fill her in all ways.

The man outside her door was making this exquisite music with the unbelievable rhythm. He had long thin fingers, she'd noticed. _And__what__does__that__have__to__do__with__anything?_

Of course, there was the matter of his face as well. In a demented way, it quelled her fiery thoughts for a while, but also piqued her curiosity. If he had shown kindness to the former slave as well, she had been a fool to reject him. That showed mercy towards women, didn't it? He had been kind to her so far, except when he suspected her of being a spy or something of the like. Then his anger had been terrible to behold. Yet for all his rage, he did not raise a hand to her, nor had he harmed her in any other way. He had been courteous in every other way as well; indeed, a perfect gentleman. Had he been born with an ugly face, let alone a normal one, the life he led would have been vastly different.

The control he exerted to conceal such a passionate soul made her wonder if he had ever known a woman intimately. He had said something to the effect that a woman would rather die than lie with him. Obviously, he did not see the way the ladies of the harem looked at him. Whenever he came to see the khanum, the air was thick with anticipation. After he left, the talk was always of how mysterious he was. Yes, they'd seen the hideous face he concealed, but he possessed an unmistakable sensuality addictive as opium.

And here she was, lying on his bed, waiting with baited breath, but for what? If something didn't happen soon, on the morrow she would be tortured and killed. The thought sent chills down her spine.

Shuddering at the thought of what would precede her demise; she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. Staring into the darkness of the room, she heard someone enter the main chambers and a few words were exchanged. Should she go now or wait? Deciding that waiting was the most certain course of action, she remained where she was until the conversation ceased. She walked to the door and let her hand linger in the air above the doorknob. What to do?

The decision was snatched out of her hands as the door swung open and the man in the mask uttered an incredulous "Mademoiselle?"

She was speechless for a moment and felt for all the world like a child caught at some wickedness. Her breathing was still a bit quick and she noted with embarrassment that her face and body were still flushed.

"What are you doing up?"

"I wanted to speak to you." _About__what,__exactly?_

"You did?" _Was__that__a__small__note__of__hope__in__his__voice?_ It seemed flat, but there was a slight lilt at the end of the statement that made her wonder.

"Yes," she answered lamely.

"And?"

"The night moves inexorably towards dawn...monsieur." She was unsure of how to address him. The khanum had called him 'Erik,' but she was not certain that she was permitted this informal advance.

"You won't be going anywhere until you eat, mademoiselle. I've had some fruits brought that you may enjoy; cheese, some water and white wine. The bread isn't ready yet, but it is on its way."

"I never said anything about going anywhere."

"Then what do you suggest? Hiding here somewhere? I assure you they will tear these chambers and the very palace apart looking for you if the khanum so desires."

"Monsieur, I do believe you are missing my point. I have already given you my decision, yet you are reluctant to accept it. Why?"

"And what is your decision?"

Sighing, the girl said, "I will spend the night with you. I shall be your wife in nearly every sense of the word-"

"Nearly every sense?" he cut her off. "And which part of you wifely duties will you not be performing?" His voice was sarcastic and poisoned. How could something so beautiful turn to ash so quickly?

"I shall be your wife in every sense of the word, except legally," she countered quickly. "We are not formally married, monsieur. I have no objections to that, and that is the only way I won't truly be your wife."

"I see." For a time he was silent, then, "Were you raised to a particular religion, mademoiselle?"

"I was born a Roman Catholic."

"You are no longer?"

"I have not been to church in years. I sometimes wonder if that is why this happened, or if I stopped going because I stopped believing."

"I do not believe in God. If you were born a Catholic, I'm assuming you have a Christian name?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"Aria."

"Aria," he said tasting it. "A very musical name, no?"

"My mother enjoyed the arts and music very much," she explained.

"I believe you have given me an idea how to keep you from your cruel fate."

"My cruel fate," she echoed.

"Yes. If we go to the khanum straight away, I shall tell her that I am not opposed to taking you as my wife so long as you are freed and we are married legally in a church."

"But why?"

"It will buy you some time."

"For what?"

"To leave this place. I can make arrangements soon enough. There is food on the table near the divan." He gestured to the antechamber. "Go sit down and eat slowly. Do not gorge yourself; you will make yourself sick. I shall wait to leave until you are finished."

"Monsieur?"

"Yes?"

"I do not wish to be taken to the khanum, nor do I care about being married or even pretending to wed you. If I were to leave the country, where am I to go? What am I to do? How many times must I say I am not averse to staying the night with you? Do you not want me?" she pled. "And even if you don't want me, I do not want to die. Please, I beg of you; if you feel any pity for me or my plight at all, take this into consideration."

"That isn't the point-"

"Yes, it is."

"Go and eat," he ordered, changing the subject with brutal finality.

"Not until you answer my question," she persisted. A small bit of courage was returning to her and it made her feel much more confident. He didn't care if she died horribly or not. In that, he was proving to be the demon everyone said he was.

"No. I will not answer."

"Then I shall not eat. If I am to die regardless, what is the point?"

His eyes clouded over; that was obviously the wrong thing to say.

"You will eat if I have to shove the food down your throat. Now go!"

His voice brooked no disapproval and again he seemed very threatening.

"As you wish. _Master_."

With a cry of almost inhuman rage he screamed, "Never call me thatagain! Do you understand? You are not some animal or thing I posses. I am not your master and I never will be!"

The door slammed in her face and she was left alone in the dark once more.


	3. Bondage with the Dawn

She should not have said that. Calling him 'master' had been a deliberate attack on his kindness. And asking if he wanted her - of course he wanted her. However, she certainly did not want him, and he did not relish the idea of spending the night with someone who was only pleasuring him to live. It was a crime against nature, love, decency, and anything true.

Yet there was something in the way she looked when he had first opened the door. Something in the way she looked at him as well. Her face and neck were flushed, but gooseflesh prickled on her skin. Something had made her either cold or hot, and that was the only explanation for that. It had to be.

He should not have slammed the door on her. How could he expect her to be thinking clearly after being half starved and living as a slave? No, it was absurd. Resolving to go in and justify his behavior to her, he paced about the apartments trying to decide how best to apologize when he heard a knock on the door.

Striding to it, he wondered absentmindedly if more food was ready when he saw the man at the door.

"Nadir, what do you want?"

"What do I want? This is the second odalisque they have sent you, and this girl from your own country, they whisper, and the spiders have reported nothing. There have been no indications of you consummating, although they did hear you screaming at her earlier."

"That is none of your business," he said curtly.

"Do you know what tortures the lady has planned for tomorrow?"

"No, but that is of no consequence," a voice interrupted.

Spinning on his heel, he rounded on her. "What are you doing? How long have you been standing there?"

"I apologize for intruding and eavesdropping, but I have no wish to die. I do not want to be tortured in unspeakable ways manufactured to be drawn out and extend my pain. You, for some reason, don't care about any of that. How hard is it to take a woman who is given to you? Do I repulse you? Have I done something to displease you?"

Erik was exceptionally thankful that the daroga did not have full command of the French language yet, and likewise for the mask that hid his embarrassment. Speaking in a level voice to the girl he replied, "No, Aria, you are not repulsive to me at all. I do not feel. I can't. It is a crime against you to take advantage of you only because I must. You don't deserve to be forced to spend the night with a hideous monster just so you can continue to live in this hellhole."

"So you believe my torture and death more appropriate? I think I should have a say in this."

"I do not want you to die. Can't you see that I am trying to help you?"

"Can't you see that I don't want your help?"

They had reached a stalemate. "Go on and eat, mademoiselle."

Sighing as he retreated behind the wall of icy courtesy, the girl did as she was told and left. Nadir only looked questioningly at him and he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"It seems I have no choice, then." The daroga only looked at him. "Well? What do you expect me to do? She does not wish to die, yet strangely she has no wish to leave the country, either. I know she would not lay with me of her own free will, but I did give her the choice."

"And she made it."

"Yes, she did."

With a slight smile on his face his friend said, "I don't think I've ever seen a man more somber on the eve of his wedding. If you'll excuse me," he let the sentence hang.

"Of course. You have such a twisted sense of humor it shouldn't even be amusing."

"Erik, if given the chance, she could possibly come to love you."

Laughing out loud, he retorted, "That's the most amusing thing you've said all night, my dear daroga. The only reason she will lie with me is to save her life. But can I really condemn her for that? Go, I shall speak with you tomorrow."

After quite rudely being told to leave the room, Aria discovered several things to her liking in an antechamber. She was finishing off a second apple when he returned.

"Please excuse my behavior earlier, mademoiselle. This is no excuse, but I. It is of no consequence."

He stared at her for a moment and reminded her of a starving child. What should she do? "You are forgiven." He bowed his head in reply and went to leave when she questioned, "Have you decided?"

Stopping in his tracks, he slowly turned around to face her. Removing the mask, he asked, "Are you certain? Are you absolutely certain that you can live with yourself after spending the night with this?"

He gestured to his pathetic excuse for a face and in his eyes were unshed tears, anger, and a sadness that ran to the depths of his soul. It was a monstrous hard thing to look on death and say with equanimity that you could kiss and caress and feign love to it. Somehow, she managed to say yes, remembering the tortures and inevitable death that would follow if she didn't.

"Well, then, Aria."

"How would you like to begin?"

His rotted features turned and he could not speak. He seemed truly nonplussed. "I don't know. I suppose whatever you wish, since you are the one. Well, it's the first time."

It was fascinating how when he blushed his cheeks reddened like normal ones. The blue veins seemed to enlarge slightly and there was a distinct color in them. She could not bring herself to think of all that was to come after the awkward chat. It was too much. It was as if she was forced into some arranged medieval marriage with a terrifying-

"Aria? Are you alright? Here, I'll bring you something. Stop crying, please." He sounded so much like a helpless child. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What? Oh, no! I was just thinking. Please, you didn't. My mind was running away to the past. I was remembering - never mind." The lie came effortlessly. He meant her no harm, truly, yet on some level she cursed him for being born, for having to be with him. _You__wicked__girl.__He__has__shown__you__nothing__but__kindness__and__you're__thinking__such__awful__things__about__him._ "You said that, forgive me, it is my first time with a man, though I know all of how to please them. Might I inquire of you?"

"Mademoiselle, Aria, I've never. No. I've not been with a woman. And I do not know women as you know men."

"Oh."

"Yes."

If you ever have the occasion to speak of such things it is very strange. You are longing to know more, and yet are forbidden to ask by the taboos of society. It was rather amusing, seeing as the entire situation was, at best for European society, a taboo.

"Do you want to know what I was really thinking, Erik?"

"No."

"I'm going to tell you anyway."

"I'd rather not hear it. Pity is death to desire and I'm sure you have none of either for me."

"I was thinking about how amusing this situation is. Neither of us find ourselves able to speak of, well, of making love without embarrassment, and yet, that is the only reason we are here speaking."

"Yes," he said with a bitter twist of his mouth. "Here you are, a beautiful young girl who, by all rights, should be at some academy playing the lovely coquette where you could escape to the Opera or some other source of entertainment for pleasure. Instead, you are here with me, a hideous murderer with a taste for death and the face of a corpse. I have the voice of an angel and it was a gross cruelty that I was allowed to live. I have been placed in a position of power over you and given something I never believed I would have. Now I do, and cannot use it."

"I suppose I could not have said it better myself," she agreed with a sad smile. "I don't believe that you have a taste for death. You have shown me nothing but kindness, Erik. I thank you for that. Shouldn't we get on with it, then?"

"No."

"We've been over this time and again."

"I can't. I'm sorry; it isn't right."

"No, perhaps it isn't, but still, I don't want to die and you aren't a monster. Tell me one thing: the first time you killed, was it for protection or pleasure?"

"Protection, however it did give me a certain satisfaction."

"Then this lifestyle has been imposed upon you. You are a genius, Erik." Not knowing where this was coming from, she could not help but continue. "Your mind, which has been the source of such frightful tortures, has the potential to have countless wonderful things come from it instead. Nothing seems to be beyond you!"

"Yes, Aria. Nothing is beyond me, yet I am like Faust. Damned to live alone, although everything is possible, but to what end? No one will ever accept me or the good I can do."

Once again, they had reached a stalemate. _Words__will__simply__not__do_. Leaning over, she gently cupped his appalling face and looked steadily into his eyes. "You're frightened. It's perfectly understandable. Have you ever, honestly, tried to live a normal life?"

"Once," he whispered harshly. "And a girl about your age died from it."

"Please, don't make the same mistake again."

Leaning over, she traced her small fingers over his face. Lightly traveling over his cheeks and across his temples they closed his eyes. Aria took a deep breath, drew her tongue across her lips, closed her eyes, and kissed him. It was a very gentle kiss. Not particularly exploratory or passionate, simply comforting. She wanted to hold on to someone and to be held. She wanted to be comforted and told that everything would be all right again.

He did not return the kiss. In fact, after a few seconds she was beginning to wonder what she was doing wrong when at last his mouth opened slightly and she felt the velvety caress of his tongue on her lips. Together they grew more relaxed and eased into the warm feeling spreading from such a simple contact. After a while they slowed and stopped, pulling apart to breathe.

When she looked in his eyes, the expression there was indescribable and both amazed and frightened her. Love, lust, fear, need, and every conceivable emotion whirled in his mismatched eyes. However, what truly frightened her was the fact that her eyes mirrored his exactly.


	4. Emotion

**Thanks for the adds and review!**

She'd kissed him. The fact that he had been kissed, for the first time in his miserable existence, made him want to die. He closed his eyes and begged forgiveness for all his sins from any divinity out there and pleaded for them to take him now while the feeling of being kissed remained on his lips.

When she'd kissed him, she hadn't been lying. He believed everything she said was true and in that single instant when her soft lips touched his, he would have gladly died. Such a gentle and seemingly insignificant thing, but somehow he knew that the memory of that first kiss would remain with him forever. Merely the brush of silky fingers gliding across his face, then the soft caress of her moist lips on his made his breath catch in his throat. Opening his eyes, he looked down into her small, lovely face. She seemed frightened, aroused, and comforted by turns. How he longed to take her in his arms and hold her close forever. Still, it was only a silly dream, he knew. Of course, she had wanted to live. To be kind he should just get this over with, for her sake. He should not become too attached or possessive; simply send her off with payment like a common whore.

But Aria could never be a common whore. She couldn't be a common anything. Nor was she his to do with as he pleased. He cursed himself for blaspheming her so in his mind. Even if he did send her away he could never forget her as though she was merely some passing body, giving only passing pleasure and a few moments of blissful release. No, she was his first kiss and as the night progressed, most likely the first woman he ever had. _And__undoubtedly__the__last_ a voice in his mind screamed at him. But would it really be so bad to have her be his first and last? Just like a wife.

She was still looking up at him, confusion now the presiding emotion on her face. He realized he had been staring off into some space in her hair for a while and she was obviously disconcerted.

He reached to stroke her face and stopped short, silently asking her permission with a nervous glance. Suddenly ashamed, he looked away and felt pleasantly surprised when she wound her fingers with his and pulled his hand onto her skin. The silvered paint was smudging onto his fingers as he caressed her. She closed her eyes and leaned closer to him. Her face was pale and warm beneath the thick paints and powders, and he had a certain curiosity to see what she would look like without the heavy masquerading makeup.

"Would you care for a bath? Those cosmetics can not be very comfortable."

"Is there time?" she questioned hopefully. He took his hand away and retrieved his pocket watch.

"It's only five minutes until midnight. There is plenty of time. I'll wake someone to draw you a bath."

"No, let them sleep, I can do it myself."

"It's no trouble."

"It's trouble to them."

"Why are you so concerned with their comfort when they are obviously so unconcerned with yours? I do not understand this trait of kindness."

"In case you had forgotten, I am nothing more than a slave as well. In a selfish way, I think of my own situation, too."

In a moment of passion, he forgot himself and grabbed her chin. Lifting her face up to his with the tips of his fingers, he said, "I swear, you won't be a slave after tomorrow, even if I have to take you out of the country to do it. I don't think of you as one and you should not either. You are my queen of the night and this is but an inconvenience before you can live in the kingdom I will build for you."

Her eyes grew wide as he spoke and filled with disbelief. She looked suspicious and asked, "You won't send me away, then? I can stay and we'll...make love?"

"I won't send you away unless you wish to leave, nor will I let you die."

"Truly?"

"I promise. I'll never send you away unless you want to go. I'll do whatever you want, Aria, I swear it." _And__where__was__all__of__this__coming__from?__I__barely__know__the__girl__and__I'm__telling__her__I'll__build__her__a__kingdom?__So__much__for__not__being__attached.__Just__think__what__you'll__be__like_after_you__make__love._

"If you don't mind, I'll have my bath now."

"Of course. I'll see about having some garments sent for you."

"Thank you."

He led her to the opulent bathroom and left her with some soap. He would need to send for bath salts and oils and lotions as well. Women liked those things, didn't they? He recalled his mother had always smelled good...

Pushing those thoughts aside as he heard the water flowing into the large marble bath he sent for her clothes and the bath products and began to pace around his apartments. They were large and spacious as befit his position in the corrupt court. He thought longingly of the palace he was building at Tehran. The palace...he could not leave until it was completed. This was his tribute to Giovanni, the man he'd considered a father until Luciana.

But when he was finished with the palace the shah knew there was no reason for him to stay in Persia. He was not loved by anyone in this godforsaken land, which was no surprise. He had heard the rumors of what the Shadow of God wished to do to him when the construction was completed. Although now there was another person to worry about. He could easily slip away into the mists of the night whenever he chose, but Aria was another matter. Two people were more easily caught than one.

The list of things to think about now that he had agreed to keep her seemed endless. It was much easier to think clearly when she was out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind; the old adage proved itself very true. _When__I'm__not__staring__into__those__quicksilver__eyes__and__watching__her__delicate__movements__the__fog__is__lifted__from__my__brain._

"Emotions are such pathetic things. Effects that should be conquered easily and set aside with contempt; exactly what I was able to do in the past. They were only acknowledged when composing. Of course, that is only natural, since when I write, I pour my heart and soul into every note, rest, and measure. All those emotions had a purpose. Not like normal people. No, they run around doing everything by how they feel, it's truly pitiful. Living by your baser instincts and ignoring reason and logic only because that was what you felt you should do.

And why wouldn't those foolish people want to live like that? All songs and stories and operas are of feelings and emotions. Even the music I compose is charged with love, hate, and longing. Every legend has the basis of raw human emotion. Love, hate, pride and pain are all part of the myth and mystique of the hero and his damsel in distress. You can be a hero forever in the stories and have a love that is ageless and infinite yet the one thing these people miss in all the songs is the key word. Tragedy. There is no love without hate, nor pleasure without pain. Of course these pretty fools don't mind that, and what is truly laughable is how they rationalize it. That is the most amusing part: when you see them prattle on and on about fantastic things they know nothing about and then try to make it all logical and rational so as not to appear insane. Bravo!"

Realizing that he had just delivered quite a passionate soliloquy he smiled bitterly and wondered what's the point of any of this? _She's__already__wormed__her__way__into__my__heart__and__these__emotions__are__overpowering__me__as__every__minute__wears__on.__Congratulations,__Erik.__You've__done__a__fine__job__of__rationalizing__it__this__time,__haven't__you?_

As the cool water spilled into the welcoming interior of the porcelain bath, she began to undress. It was more difficult at first than she had anticipated, and more than once she considered calling him in to help her. She blushed at the thought, though upon consideration she recalled the reason she was bathing in the first place. No servants had arrived to help her as of yet, and between the layers of clothing and tangles of hair it would certainly take a while to complete the undressing herself.

The first order was to get out of these clothes. They were very loose and sheer to look at, much like the gauzy curtains that hung like fairies wings in the harem. A few ties and strings in cleverly concealed places held them together, making it a test of her flexibility to reach certain knots.

Some were proving to be impossible, and she realized it would become a necessity to enlist his help. Without a mirror she would never untangle the masses of hair, and without a maid the effort would take hours. The one task she could begin to complete by herself was to draw the water. The marble bath was enormous and could have easily seated two or more people and as the water began to rise she knew she could not put off asking for assistance much longer. Higher and higher she watched the crystal water flow until it reached the decorative tile edging and she knew she must stop it now.

Tentatively she walked to the door and into the hall in search of her soon to be lover.

"Erik?" she called out.

A soft reply from a distant room met her inquiry.

"Erik, if you could spare a moment, I'd appreciate your help with something."

"Of course, what is it that you need?"

"No servants have arrived, and I need to be out of these clothes."

"I see. I had hoped that they would be here shortly, but it seems that my commands are not being followed. I don't see how I can be of assistance to you."

"Possibly by helping me remove my clothing and undressing my hair?"

"Ah, yes, well…would you be comfortable with that? You have time to wait if you wouldn't mind. I shall send for someone again."

"The truth is, I do mind waiting, and the water will cool shortly if I don't bathe soon. I'm sure you recall the reason that I'm bathing in the first place."

"Yes," he replied coolly with infuriating logic, "to cleanse the paint from your skin. Now, I can easily send for someone again, because I really don't think it would be for the best if I-"

She stepped towards him and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders.

"You're going to see me without any of this shortly anyway, what's the point in putting it off any longer?" Turning her back on him, she continued, "Now, there should be a line of ties and strings hidden somewhere under the mess they've made of my hair. Please untie them."

At first there was no response. He did not move to undo the knots or even to walk away. Then, at last she felt the cool touch of his fingers on her lower back as they moved ever upwards to unlace the silky strings one by one. Carefully and deliberately she felt him lightly tug at the strings, but he only pulled hard enough to loosen them. The long and deft fingers moved to the sides of her hips and undid the ties there as well. Sheer, silvery wisps of fabric literally hung from her body; she felt him step away and was filled with a desperate longing for him to return.

"The ties should be sufficiently loose for you to undress yourself. I shall leave you to your bath."

The heels of his shoes made a silent noise on the floor and she could hear him begin to walk away. Impulsively, she called out, "Erik!"

"Yes, Aria?"

"What about my hair?"

"Come again?"

"My hair," she repeated lamely. "It's even more of a mess than my skirts. I don't know how I'll manage to untangle it, and I certainly can't bathe with it like this. What shall I do?"

"Aria, I'm sorry, but I truly haven't the slightest idea where even to begin. Honestly, this shall have to wait for someone else's attention."

"Erik, I don't have time to wait. Please, just undo the pins and work some oil into the tangles. That is to say you have oil, of course. And just ease the knots out, however they've been done up. Do you have a brush? The soap and water would help dissolve some of the paste they applied."

"Aria," he began.

"Really, Erik. It's not that difficult."

"Please, I'll wake someone. Anyone. And I don't even have a suitable brush for you." He very obviously averted his eyes from her now half-naked figure. "You'll never be able to relax if I'm present…"

"Nonsense. Although, if you're truly that uncomfortable with it. Turn around, please." Immediately, he did as she asked, and she continued, "I'll step into the bath, it's deep enough that you won't be compromising my honor or anything like that, and then you can help with my hair. All right?" Before he could respond, she stepped out of the remnants of costume clinging to her body, and sank into the marble bath. The warm water felt remarkable against her skin, and she could feel some of the tension ease out of her lower back. Far off, she heard the delicate chime of a bell.

"Pray, excuse me, Aria. Perhaps the servants I demanded have arrived."


	5. Three Step Waltz

Too much time has been wasted already, she desperately thought. If he takes as much time with his love-making as he does everything else, I'll be lucky if he's done with me by this time tomorrow. On the other hand, that wouldn't be undesirable if only we had the time. And if we had all that time to spare, those wonderfully musical hands of his could be composing an innovative and virtuoso symphony, possibly something of the like even he'd never imagined before. A delicious chill went through her at the idea, while at the same time a burning warmth arose in her cheeks. _What__am__I__thinking?__I__don't__even__want__to__be__doing__this._

A quick sharp tap at the door snapped Aria out of her reverie.

"Please, come in," she said. When the door did not open, she called out again, "Come in!"

The door opened, and he strode through, looking every inch the dark magician. In his hands were a few small, glass vials filled with different colored liquids.

Her anxiety now having peaked for the evening, Aria trembled slightly and said, "Erik, we don't have time to spare. If you could manage, I'd very much appreciate a brush and simply something to untangle my hair."

"_Absolumment,__ma__cherie._ I've had some things brought for you," he said as he set the bottles on the counter. "This is supposed to untangle your curls. And these are some soaps and salts, if it's not too late to add them."

"Thank you so much, Erik. Of course it's not."

With that out of the way, she began scrubbing at her delicate skin and watched as the slivery paint flaked off. The diamonds that were so artistically placed on her hands and arms were still embedded in her skin, however, and they posed a slightly painful problem. Whenever she picked at one, if it did come off, her skin would bleed and there was now a small laceration in the rough shape of a circle. Realizing that this looked even worse than the jems themselves, she decided to leave well enough alone and continue rubbing at the paint. Erik noticed the tiny lacerations and looked at her with mute understanding. He brought her pin-pricked skin to his lips and gently kissed each of the tears.

As she cleansed her body under the soap bubbles, Erik was working on the mess that was her hair. The sensations that coursed through her body as he gently wound his fingers in and out were nothing short of indescribable. He massaged the oil into her scalp and began to work through the tangles with a brush. She felt her eyes begin to close, while trying desperately to focus on the task at hand.

Naturally curly and thick, it was nothing short of a miracle what the khanum's women had been able to do with it. The typically unruly curls were smoothed and tamed and twisted into elaborate patterns on the back of her head. She knew it would have been hopeless had she tried to untangle them herself; she realized soon after they were finished that her hair was not so much held in place by pins, but intricately woven in upon itself, time and again.

He tugged at a rebellious strand of hair, and despite all his kindness and thoughtfulness, the fact remained that he was a murderer, and a torturer at that. Plus, she had to lie with him in order to live. It was rather twisted that to escape certain cruel death at the hands of a sadist she had to love him instead.

Then again, life was full of beautiful ironies like that, wasn't it? Perhaps she was being too hard on him. After all, the life he'd had to lead was certainly not easy. He mentioned something of a normal life before, ending presumably when a girl died. He'd never said how she'd died, only indicated that it was somehow his fault. Or, rather, the fault of his devilish face.

The thought of that face still made her terribly empty stomach jolt. It was unbelievably hideous. If she had encountered it in a traveling fair, freak show, or even medical journal, she doubted that she would have ever thought it could be real. Some type of stage makeup, or expertly crafted mask, was undoubtedly what her reasoning would have been. His face was truly something you had to see to believe, yet even upon seeing it one wanted nothing more than not to believe.

Suddenly, she realized that the once-warm water had grown uncomfortably cool, and the gentle hands had stopped worrying at her hair. She abruptly turned around, and saw no signs of Erik anywhere. Noticing a large towel that had not been there before, she stood and dried herself off. Cautiously, she stepped into the hallway, scarce daring to breathe as she listened for some sign of him. The way he was constantly disappearing and reappearing still made her uneasy, as though he could catch her unawares at any time.

She proceeded down the hallway and past the main room, where black gauzy curtains billowed and danced in the wind. The cool night air brought goose bumps to her skin, and she clutched the towel to herself. Something in the way the drapes were moving reminded her of balls and grand parties, and couples waltzing. The music was playing in her mind; _one,__two,__three;__one,__two,__three_ it went, spiraling around and around. Unknowingly, she began to dance in the hallway, spinning to the quartet in her head. When it stopped, she ceased to dance, and flushed with embarrassment. How silly, to be dancing with oneself, especially when there is no music about. Her embarrassment turned to shame when she realized that in the midst of her dancing, she'd lost her towel. Off the floor, she seized the truant covering and ran straight into the magician's bedroom.


	6. Bedrooms and Bathrooms

**Two chapters in one day! To be fair, Chapter 5 was pretty short…enjoy!**

He had been in the midst of composing an impromptu concerto when the vexatious sound of someone hammering on the door to his chamber disturbed him. Setting his precious violin aside, he stalked to the foyer and unbolted the door. Upon opening the heavy and ornately carved postern, he beheld two women from the harem, an evident glimmer of contempt shown in his differing eyes. Outfitted and arrayed formally enough for a court event of the highest measure, they stood insolently staring at him. Undoubtedly the khanum herself had something to do with this, for the two women did not look tousled from sleep in the slightest. No, he was certain that they'd been awake for at least an hour, and active at that.

"You are no longer needed here," he stated laconically.

"As you say, oh master, but we were told our services were a matter of dire importance, and it would not be fitting if we leave you unattended."

"You do not understand. I have determined already that your services are no longer needed seeing as you did not arrive when commanded. You are fortunate that I am otherwise occupied this evening, and I have better things to do than to plan your demise."

The young courtesan's insolence was nearly intolerable. Aria had needed assistance more than an hour ago, and in the end, he himself had to help her bathe, which she'd probably found unbearable. Simply the thought of her having to struggle so unnecessarily pained him to the core.

"Of course, master, yet you forget that you did not directly command us to serve you. The eunuch who awakened us did so at his leisure and bade us to dress as befit the shah himself."

"I see, yet you were commanded, I presume, to attend me as soon as possible. Is that not correct?"

"It is entirely correct, master, yet to best serve you we are required to follow a certain decorum, and-"

Tiring of her vague and repetitive banter he abruptly cut her off. "Perhaps you require a lesson on the difference between a command and a request? One that you shall never forget. You see, I have already been served by a young man who was quite willing to do anything I asked of him. He arrived at an acceptable time and did as he was told. Your services are no longer needed here, as a monkey could have dressed itself more competently and efficiently in your place. Then again, one need not dress so extravagantly in the kitchens; perchance your cooking is better than your timing."

He deliberately left the glacial assertion hang, and smiled inwardly as their heavily powdered and painted faces paled visibly.

"Of course, oh great one. Our most sincere and deepest apologies for requiring you to wait, please forgive us," the aged and obese woman stuttered out. She had remained silent throughout the entire exchange with her head bowed. Performing a deep obeisance, she knelt down ponderously and began to back away from the door.

Erik nearly chuckled when he saw her sharply tug the younger woman's skirts. The concubine started and then began to spit out her own pathetic platitudes as well. Retaining his ever-present commanding grasp of this rather farcical situation, he dismissively waved them away and closed the door with a resounding noise.

Perhaps he should have ordered them to stay and devise some meaningless chore for them to do. Something akin to counting the grains of sand in a jar, but, of course, Aria would not approve of that. Normally, the affront to his pride, and their indifference to his powerful position would have taken precedent; now, however, Aria's wishes were more important. If the women of the harem were more afraid of the khanum than the Angel of Death himself, he would have to remind them of the implacable jurisdiction he held over the lives of everyone in Persia, but at a later date. Although the shah believed himself impervious to Erik's wrath, even he was not entirely safe.

Turning back to the matter at hand, Erik found himself once again walking down the corridor to his private bath to speak to Aria. As he neared the fragile, carved doorway his thoughts became entirely centered on his mistress. Just behind the lacey woodwork, her elaborate raiment was lying on the floor in a puddle of silks and satins and gossamer. She had disrobed piece by piece, each layer slipping down her sumptuous body until nothing remained but Aria.

He could see her leaning over the bath casually feeling the temperature of the water with her delicate hand. Stepping into the deep waters, he saw the liquid glide up her lithe legs and as she sank into the soothing waters the tension fell away from her silvered face and her lips parted ever so invitingly.

What was he thinking? In all actuality, he had seen nothing, for he'd been too ashamed to watch her disrobe. The closest he had come to that fantasy was when he combed and washed her hair. She seemed so very relaxed as his hands worked at the tight knots, and he'd longed to let his hands wander further and further down. The memory of her milky shoulders peeking above the murky water still made him throb with want. Somehow, he managed to curb this sudden, ravenous desire and called out to her. For all he knew, the girl could have drowned herself while he was out of the room and ended her misery.

"Aria, is everything all right in there?"

Nothing but silence answered him, not even the sound of her moving about in her bath water. "Aria, can you hear me?"

When she didn't respond for a second time, he waited a moment and cautiously opened the double doors. Looking resolutely at the floor, again he asked if she was all right. Finally his curiosity demanded that he look over to the deep marble bath that was more like a shallow pool and jumped when he saw that she wasn't sitting in it.

"Aria!" He ran to the edge of the stone tub and looked into its filmy depths. Thrusting his arms into the gray waters, he sighed with relief when he couldn't feel the outline of her tiny body. Now where in the seven hells did she go? He hadn't heard her leave the bath, nor had she called for him. Then perhaps she had tried to approach him while he was playing his violin and he may not have heard her call.

Leaving the steamy antechamber he walked down the corridor and noticed some wet spots on the granite floor. They seemed to proceed directly to the window and Erik observed they formed a small puddle in this area. Glancing around a bit more, he determined that the fading footprints went straight into his bedroom.

_And isn't that interesting? She's cleaned off and run right into my private chambers. Perhaps she isn't as unwilling as I had thought._

With a smug grin on his twisted face, Erik slowly walked into his room, just as he would have any other time of the day. He had to bite back laughter when he saw Aria jump to cover her exquisite, and distinctly nude body.

"Ah, excuse the intrusion, mademoiselle. When I did not hear you answer me from the bath, I was concerned you'd run off and I decided to come straight to my chambers. I thought it would be best if I dress appropriately should I need to go find you."

Erik watched with slight disappointment as Aria did not even bother to look up at him with remorse or uneasiness. She simply focused on artfully and securely tying the sash to a robe that had been lying on his featherbed.

When she finally deigned to look up at him, she did so quite seriously and said, "Yes, I suppose you're right. After all, you wouldn't want anyone to think you plunged your arms into my filthy bath water thinking I'd drowned or anything. It might detract from your omnipotent and imposing reputation." After this last statement she abruptly broke into giggles and walked towards him. "Unless I'm mistaken, of course. Please, I'd like for you to correct me if I'm wrong."

"Wrong about what?" He laughed and had the most ridiculous desire to take her in his rather soggy arms and kiss her.

"Oh, only wrong about the fact you were concerned and thought I'd died."

"You couldn't have been more correct, my sweet. I must apologize for your lack of assistance, however. A few moments ago the two servants that I requested to assist you appeared in all the pomp and circumstance they would affect for the coronation of a new shah. I decided that they kept you waiting entirely too long, and I hope that my assistance was acceptable, especially since you had to go without an experienced hairdresser."

"You suppose, do you? Well, I didn't require a hairdresser to _un_-dress my hair, but you did the best you could, and I thank you for that. Although you could have been a bit more helpful when it came to undressing me…"

Nonplussed by her brusque rebuttal, and even more surprised by her comments on assisting her disrobe. Was she being serious? The bemused smile on her face indicated that she was merely toying with him. Of course she didn't want him to undress her, or even touch her for that matter. There she was, standing in his silks that hung off her tiny frame like a drape. She looked so young with her hair let down and those ridiculous paints off of her skin. No girl with her looks would ever want his hands on her. Those hands that had murdered innumerable men would never be desired in intimate places on a fiery girl such as Aria. Or any girl for that matter.

Angered once more by her subtle rejection, he coldly turned and made to leave the room. "I'll leave you then, now that I know you're well, despite my lack of _assistance_." With a rancid taste on that last word, he swept out into the hallway and slammed the door.

Veritably seconds after, he heard the door reopen and the soft sound of silk falling to the floor.

"Well if you're so reluctant to help me, I suppose I'll have to undress myself from now on."


End file.
